


Who Hurt You, Don?

by MizuPhoenix



Series: CrackFic One-Shots [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Based on Lore made while Drunk in the DDD, Crack Origin Story, Don is now my Stan Lee, Gen, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 10:33:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19810480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizuPhoenix/pseuds/MizuPhoenix
Summary: Don was proud of few things in life, none more so than his dong. One unfortunate day he clicks an add that alters his life forever.





	Who Hurt You, Don?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CajunSpice714](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CajunSpice714/gifts).



> A special Happy Birthday gift to Siri. Without whom Don would never have existed. <3 <3 <3
> 
> This Is pure crack for the lovely ladies in the DDD.

* * *

Who Hurt You, Don: The Story of How Don Lost His Dong

As a man, there are many things one can feel prideful about. His job, his car, and most importantly his dick. The twenty-seven-year-old male had a boring job working nine to five in a cramped office cubical, but it paid well. He needed the money to take care of his baby – no not a literal one – his car. A 1969 sleek black Firebird, with the flaming chicken decal in stark white the hood of his car.

Chicks loved sports cars.

Of course, with his buffed and waxed baby, he also had his sweet baby girl. Who loved his car, his money, and above all things his glorious eight-inch cock – his pride and joy. God may not have blessed him with flowing luxurious hair, or genius-level intelligence, but he did see fit to grant him a large and thick, cock. Don thought that was a fine deal.

Until one very terrible day.

“Have a good night there Don. Don’t stay too late,” his boss waved to him, leaving Don as the last employee on the floor.

Don waved a hand, blue eyes twinkling under the florescent light. He had to work a bit of extra overtime, his girl wanted to enjoy a trip to Disneyworld. Don had already gone way over budget on the ring sitting in the glove box of his Phoenix. He planned to make an honest woman out of Desiree, and what better place to do it than the happiest place on earth?

“Let’s see here,” Don mumbled to himself, scratching an itch on his rather large – ostrich nose – as he maneuvered his mouse towards his browser. Clicking open Internet Explorer he went to Bing to find a travel agency that might find him a deal.

Using company time to look up vacation rates was not company policy, but no one – not even IT – would think to check his internet explorer history, surely. Don spaced his time between crunching numbers and plugging them into his Excel spreadsheet, and scrolling through travel agencies.

“Fake, bad ratings, obviously a scam, that guy doesn’t look like he would know fun if it bit him in the ass,” Don kept a running commentary to keep himself amused. Then curiosity nipped at his heels. "What's this?"

An ad of a man in a devil's costume - a terribly cheap looking get-up - was standing in front of what had to be one of those screens store photographers used to appear as if the family was at a beach. Very cheap indeed, but it was the tagline sprawled in Comic Sans lettering – a serious faux pas – that really drew his eyes. _Travel deals, not even the Devil could pass up._

That was rather odd, considering to Don’s knowledge all the lore on Satan said he was the one who _made_ deals. It was nothing more than human curiosity that led Don to move his mouse to click on the ad. What followed, Don would never have believed if he did not have proof of the interaction himself.

With a single blink of his eyes, when Don’s icy blues opened he was there with the man in the horrible devil costume in front of what was a screen painted with the image of a beach, and some cheap sand scattered across the concrete floor.

“What in the he-”

“Ah! Finally! You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting for someone to click on that advertisement. It’s 2006, everything _has_ to be done over the internet now,” the man frowned, adjusting the cheap red hood and cloth horns on his head. "Way of the future, Daegon said. At least we've gotten past that horrible dial-up!"

Don was clearly suffering from a hallucination. Perhaps he had been working a bit too much lately. “I’m sorry?”

The man in the devil suit blinked a few times. “Oh right! How silly of me, you clicked on the advert yes?”

“Yes I did,” Don’s brow wrinkled in confusion, unsure of where this hallucination would be taking him. A call to his therapist was in order the first moment he woke up.

“Ah, good, good!" the devil-man purred. "Then all I need from you is to sign on the dotted line and your Disney vacation will be paid in full. We offer a very exclusive package deal. The House of Mouse has been a long-time client of ours."

“Client?” Don wondered, sure Disney was pricey and most of their movies were basically just printing money – but a deal with the devil? This was assuredly a nervous breakdown from overworking himself to pay for his proposal vacation.

“Oh yes, there are quite a few plans in the works for Disney. A lucrative superhero studio contract, as well as a space epic deal that will change the very course of history. Then there are the late game plans for Disney to cannibalize one of their competitors and then use that as a selling point for an app someone will make in the next decade or so," the man explained with a proud grin. "I am working on that last deal myself."

All Don had registered was that his hallucination was clearly insane, and by proxy, he himself probably was as well. Could he call his therapist mid hallucination? It was worth a try. As Don pulled out his flip phone to dial one of the numbers he had memorized his entire body froze. His phone was no longer his trusty Nokia, but a golden fountain pen.

_What in the seven hells is going on?_ Don wondered to himself as he stared at the golden pen in his hands. The weight of the tiny writing implement was oddly heavy for something so small.

“Well, you’re signing a contract with yours truly,” the man in the devil costume bowed presenting a contract on honest to goodness parchment. Don took the offered parchment with his free hand. “Disney vacations are terribly overpriced. Part of the _Magic_ ," he explained using air quotes around the word magic.

“I see,” Don replied, not that he saw at all what the odd man was talking about. “What _is_ your name?”

"Oh!" the man straightened first himself then his garish red Halloween costume. "I am Baldomero! Maker of Deals, and procurer of things for my lord Lucifer Morningstar,” he bowed. “Plan to make a smash hit TV show about him in the future.”

"Right," Don's skepticism was as clear as the plastic-looking tail jutting out from the other man's backside.

“Well go on, sign the papers, then you can be on your way,” Baldomero insisted, nudging his ribs.

If only to hopefully end this infernal fever dream, Don quickly signed his name on the parchment with the golden fountain pen. No sooner had he finished his flourish did the parchment vanish, and his phone appeared where the pen had once been.

Maybe he would have a bit of a lie down before he phoned his therapist. His stomach felt all twisted in knots. Something was terribly wrong, Don knew. He just could not place what – aside from the hallucination.

“Excellent! One Disney package for you and your lover for the price of...” Baldomero held the contract and looked it over, his eyes widening. The look would have been comical had the horrible face paint not been so distracting. “Your most treasured possession. Oh dear me,” he reached over and gave Don a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Not sure a Disney trip was worth _that_ price. I’ll throw in the VIP packa… er… special, on the house,” Baldomero finished stumbling over his words.

Don was quite done with this entire hallucination. "Sure. Can I go now, please? I think I need to make a phone call."

Baldomero nodded his head, "Of course. You will surely need her help in getting used to your new state. Good luck," the odd man – hallucination, figment of his imagination, whatever it was – waved and just like that Don was back at his desk, staring at his computer screen.

He checked the date and time just to be sure. June 6th, 2006 7:06 pm. Blinking a few times, and pinching his arm rather hard, Don felt relief rush through him. At least that was over. Don made sure to log off and shut down his computer before leaving. He noted there was no terrible devilish add in any of his Internet Explorer tabs.

No matter. It was all just stress, Don assured himself as he made a stop at the bathroom. His insides were all twisted and he would not dare run the risk of ruining the leather interior of his baby. As he sat down on the seat, Don's instincts were screaming that something was terribly wrong. He glanced down, only to his ultimate horror something very important was missing.

He really needed to make that call now, because clearly, he was having delusions right now. From Don's perspective his beautiful thick cock had vanished, and in its place was a hump. He had turned into a walking Ken Doll.

A few days later, and his therapist would not return his calls after he dropped his trousers in front of her, to prove he had not lost his mind. The truth was right there, his dick was _gone._ Stolen by a man in a crude Devil’s outfit for a stupid Disney Vacation.

His girlfriend had left him when he admitted his problem to her on the third consecutive night of not fucking her into the mattress. He dropped his pants again, and she just scoffed and rolled her eyes. Desiree was still not returning his calls.

Don swore he would find that monster Baldomero, and reclaim his lost dong if it was the last thing he did.


End file.
